To be Perfect
by SkittySongs
Summary: Thirteen year old Franziska von Karma is a prodigal prosecutor, and will settle for no less than perfect. So when her father points out a flaw within her, how far will she strive to keep herself perfect in his eyes?


AN: I'll upload the second chapter soon! ...Once I figure out where the heck to go with this, anyways. I... I'm literally stuck between two endings, and it's pain and torture. u_u;;

Inspired most _definitely_ by To be Perfect, written by uglyduckbella on Archive of Our Own. Go read theirs, and then read this one, and it'll make a lot more sense.

* * *

A Von Karma is perfect in every single way.

That's what Franziska Von Karma had been taught since the day she was concieved out of that imperfect woman, who couldn't force herself to breathe for more than a second after birth. Imperfection at it's finest, is what she was told. It didn't bother her that her "poor" mother died during childbirth, quote on quote poor due to the fact that she was quite the poor woman to begin with. She was nothing close to perfection, and strayed far from it, seeking only riches and money from the Von Karma family. Franziska was almost glad she never met the woman, or she might have to become "imperfect" for a moment.

But that wouldn't be acceptable of a Von Karma.

Nor was beliving yourself to be perfect until you achive true perfection, an honor granted upon you by the most perfect of people.

It happened at the dinner table. The routine was the same, you gather, you sit, you eat, speak about your perfect score on your perfect test with your perfect intelligence, and receive a perfect response from your family members, so on and so forth. But this time, it strayed from the topic of perfection for once.

"Franziska." Von Karma had ordered, dabbing his winkled cheek with two dabs. A perfect action, no more, no less. It was what was expected from him. The word rolled off his tongue surprised her, and her adopted brother as well, causing them both to glance up at him with uneasiness in their eyes.

"Yes, father?" She replied, sucking in her breath and replacing the falling napkin from her leg. They sat in silence for a moment before the man spoke once more.

"You've gained too much weight."

It had caught them both off guard. Edgeworth for one nearly choked on his casserole, and Franziska's eyes widened with fear at her father. Had he really just said that to her? Was she gaining weight? Her routine was perfected to the maximum, forged by herself, every calorie and every gram of fat measured to absolute certaintry that she would remain a certain weight for a certain period of time.

"I—… I have, father?" Is what she could muster out, swallowing the ball in her throat, forcing herself to keep her eye-contact instead of letting her eyes fall down to her stomach.

"You have indeed. Fix it."

A simple command.

Not so easily executed, though.

After the meal, Franziska darted straight for her room, setting herself down at her writing desk in an attempt to revise her weight-plan. Was it too much? Too less? Was she not sticking to it correct? Was she sticking to it too much? The hours of the night rolled by as she scribbled and scratched on the paper, but nothing could work. Nothing would allow her a perfect diet than the plan she was already on, balancing her excerise, intake of food, outtake of food—

Franziska halted, her tired eyes shooting open as she realized.

To be perfect, one must do everything in their power to achive perfection.

It started off simple: eat your meal, and only use the lavatory twice. The plan had gone quite well for the first week, only eating a small portion at a time before excusing herself seemed normal to everyone at first. After the second week, Edgeworth had began to give her strange glances when she excused herself, to which returned said glances with a glare of cold ice. The third week, Monday night, straight after the dinner, he had pulled her over for something unknownst to her.

"What do you need? I'm in a hurry, and it's quite a bother when foolish fools foolishly bring me aside for foolish reasons that are so easily fixable if you weren't a fool."

"…" His face was expressionless, something Franziska knew to be a bad thing. He was never expressionless. Only amused and confident. That's all she's learned to see in him, anyways. "You've visited the bathroom every meal for the past three weeks, Franziska. Can you tell me why?"

Franziska felt as if her heart had stopped for a moment, and she felt her breath get caught in her throat. He had noticed? Of course he had noticed, it's unexcusable to disrupt the pattern you've have for years because of a foolish reason such as self-conciousness—

—something he didn't know she was.

"It's none of your business." Is all she could reply with before abruptly turning her heel and walking away, leaving Edgeworth to his thoughts. 'He can think what he wishes', she decided, 'but it will not affect my fate in being perfect in any way.'

It did affect her.

For the first night, she laid her bed, pondering silently over what she could do to push the suspicion off her. She certainly couldn't continue with her fool-proof plan (that didn't turn out to be so fool-proof after all), and she couldn't begin to force herself to skip the meals she's been so accustomed to eating for so long.

She sat up.

"I'll do it after." She spoke to herself, a satisfied grin growing on her face as she lowered her head down on her pillow in an attempt to get herself some shut-eye. Needless to say, she got none.

The next week was practically torture for Franziska, her hand shaking whenever she stabbed her spinach with a fork, knowing that it was all going to waste after the meal brought her worry and misery. Was this right? Is this what her father would nod his head at? Would this truly return her to her perfect state? Her constant grinding and mashing of the salad that rests on her plate caused her brother to give a couple of worried flicks of the eye, but nothing more.

Her father didn't even notice.

The pattern went on for a week more, and Franziska's stealing of the measuring scale didn't seem to cause any disruption in the patterns that this household followed to the exact pinpoint. Though the numbers were exactly where she planned they would be, she felt herself growing less and less happy with her current state. The only thing that kept her from tossing the damn machine out the window and screaming at it was the fact that she knew it was where she should be. Perfection will be reached no matter what the cause.

Also, the fact that she had no strength to do so.

At the next meal she attended, she stared at the plate, making no move towards it. She had no desire to eat it. No desire to feed herself like a normal human being. But she wasn't a human being, she resolved, she was perfect. Or… she was to be perfect, once she regained the confidence to be so. The silence at the table was unbearable, and she felt as if she was going to explode if no one would comment on something. The drapes. The carpet. Perhaps the food quality. Something to distract Franziska from the roasted beef that smells so delicious, so tempting to scarf down, but she can't.

"Franziska."

She almost smiled when she heard her name called. Did her father want to congratulate her on her recent weight loss? Did he wish for her to clean the plates? A normal disscussion from a father to a daughter, something that wasn't grueling and horrible to withstand? She rose her head to the sound, her eyes glistening with expectations.

"You haven't eaten anything off your plate."

It wasn't her father, but her brother, Edgeworth. She felt all hopes shattered like the plate that she shoved off the table, standing up and pushing the chair back, tipping it over to near toppling. Franziska huffed out a quick, 'excuse me', before choking back a sob as she dashed for the door. Edgeworth stood up quickly, nearly moving to go after her with his arm outreached before he heard a stray voice.

"…Don't you know it's impolite to leave the dinner table during your meal, Miles? She's obviously finished." Manfred smirked, ignoring the remains of the china that lay on the floor and the flipped over chair that layed there, motionless, and everything was still for a moment. The boy turned his head to his adoptive father, his eyes widening with realization, before he slowly lowered himself uncomfortably next to him, in his usual seat, his eyes returning to the doorway in worry.

…

The sobbing rang in her ears and throughout the lavatory as Franziska leaned over the toilet, her knuckles under her gloves growing white as she clung to the seat as if it was a lifeline. She coughed, and coughed, but for some reason, just coughing it up didn't work this time. Her eyes squeezed themselves shut as she felt the tears drip down her cheeks, her coughs becoming more and more forced and unpleasant, as if there was something in her chest she couldn't get out.

"Please," she breathed, "please please please, please please please please _pleeeease_…" It was a last resort, a last measure, something that she forced herself to do only if she had too, but she removed her right glove with blinding speed before shoving her index finger in her mouth. It all happened in a moment. The feeling of it gushing out, the taste of the regurgitated beef, the shame, the knowledge, the disaproval of all the people around her, the pressure of being perfect… it rushed out of her mouth with a couple of more sobs.

It became a release for her.

The next couple of days passed by without anything interesting happening, except the fact that Franziska avoided her adopted brother at all costs. The truth was there, in front of him, and he had grasped it, she was sure of that. She didn't need him to emphasize her weakness. The only moment where she knew she couldn't avoid him was the table.

"I've decided to begin eating in my room." She announced that evening, the plate full of delicious soup turning cold as she swirled it around with her spoon. Edgeworth's attention was captured instantly, and his head shot up from his bread to stare at her with scrunched eyebrows. It took a moment for Manfred to glance to her, and even then, he seemed disinterested.

"Why is that, Franziska?" He spoke, his voice leveled with uneasy coolness.

"There has been a steady rise in cases that are needed to be looked into, and there is no reason that I should not look into them." She stated.

"Fair enough." He dismissed.

'Fair enough indeed,' she nodded, finally raising her spoon of cold soup to her mouth and taking just a sip out of it. It was almost like heaven, feeling something slide down her throat instead of up it for once, but she knew that she would see that droplet of soup once again in the bathroom. The feeling of it upset her stomach, and she spend the rest of the dinner staring at her reflection in the wine glass that sat next to her.

A Von Karma must be perfect in every single way.

The only words that kept her sane were those.


End file.
